


No, We Don't Need No Water (Let That Mother-Mother-Burn)

by Arkie



Series: DJ, Turn Up The Fucking Sound [ umy garbage court ] [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Selkies, Urban Magic Yogs, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18684670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkie/pseuds/Arkie
Summary: He ran his fingers through it, admiring the smoothness and softness, like velvet. It smelled distinctly of the sea, he realised, as the breeze reached him, reaching out for his presence and mind. It drew him in, and he felt the distant urge to do something - to free it from its enclosure of dust and manmade things, to take it away far away. It felt trapped, suffocated and stifled and alone, longing for a friend. The pull was only small, but enough to make him frown in curiosity.-Ross tries to figure out Smith and Trott's strange relationship.





	No, We Don't Need No Water (Let That Mother-Mother-Burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Freaks - Timmy Trumpet & Savage (the 'when mom isn't home' song)

Trott and Smith lived in a shitty apartment near the club, Ross soon found. Not shitty due to lack of space, though, far from it. It was due to a lack of care; dirty things slung about and cheap, mismatched furniture shoved in inconvenient spots. A few old crates and wooden boxes spilling out, clearly never quite unpacked, though they couldn't have been there too short a time. 

They shoved Ross into a room of his own - blue walls, an old bed and dusty, half-filled bookcases - and left him much to his own devices the first while. They were busy, and not just with the club - he heard snatches of conversation that didn't quite make sense to him, and weren't explained.

Gargoyle magic was mysterious and protection-based, he knew. Simply having one close at hand would lend an intangible and innate level of security to a person or place. This must be what they were bearing in mind, as they tended to keep him nearby, at home or at the club, with hardly words for him more meaningful than 'stay here' or 'go there', and otherwise largely ignored him. 

Sometimes they would go out unaccompanied and leave him there, with neither explanation nor instruction. He doubted the lack of communication was down to trust - more likely they just didn't think him capable of much more than his use. 

So Ross did his best not to feel hurt, and made sure to follow the few orders he _had_ been given. But even a gargoyle will grow bored at such a lack of either activity or responsibility, and it was that boredom lead him to explore the apartment, bit by bit. He didn't know if he'd be told off for doing so, so he kept it to himself and tried not to feel guilty. 

It was on his fifth day with them that he discovered something strange, buried deep at the bottom of an old trunk in a dim spare room. He never would have seen it at all had one of the others not clearly been through it that morning before they both left in a hurry, leaving the top slightly ajar and the contents ruffled. So, hours later, Ross found himself knelt beside it, pulling from it onto his lap some sort of length of dark fabric. It was thick, furred and dark grey in colour, and seeped in a subtle sort of magic, and the underside was smooth, like skin. He thought it must be a pelt of some sort, but not one he'd ever seen. 

He ran his fingers through it, admiring the smoothness and softness, like velvet. It smelled distinctly of the sea, he realised, as the breeze reached him, reaching out for his presence and his mind. It drew him in, and he felt the distant urge to do something - to free it from its enclosure of dust and manmade things, to take it away far away. It felt trapped, suffocated and stifled and alone, longing for a friend. The pull was only small, but enough to make him frown in curiosity. 

Then he heard incoming footsteps and a sharp intake of breath behind him.

"HEY," a voice roared and Ross jumped. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

Smith ripped the soft pelt away from him and guilt and shock ripped through him - Smith's features were twisted with rage, lips curled back into a snarl and brows etched downwards in fury. 

"I'm- I'm sorry-" Ross tried to stammer out, paralysed. 

"Shut up," Smith snarled and threw an anxious glance behind him. Then he turned and fixed Ross with a hard and very blue gaze that had him transfixed and seared, and he felt sure he would be unable to refuse any request made of him. "Listen," Smith said, quiet and forced and tense. If he had sharp teeth, they would be bared. "You didn't see this, alright?" 

"What-?"

Smith bundled the fabric in his arms, still glancing surreptitiously about. "You don't mention this to _anyone_. Especially Trott." He moved to the trunk and Ross scrambled out of his way. He sorted through, throwing things aside and returning the pelt to its former position, folded carefully in what Ross realised was something of a hidden sort of cleft at the bottom, dislodged this morning in the chaos. Smith replaced the other garments and mysterious artefacts on top, and then shoved closed the lid and locked it with a key. 

Bewildered, Ross watched, trying to make sense of the rapid progression, but then Smith was standing and turned and hauled Ross by the front of his shirt right up to his face. Ross's mind stuttered. The last time he was this close to either of them was with Trott, under very different circumstances, but the eyes blazing a way into his soul now held no less intensity, no less ferocity. But where Trott's were full of heat, promising his every wish, the every desire of his soul, Smith's were pure threat; the enticement of a predator in the bushes, of power and a cold fire that burned no less harsh than its counterpart. Ross fell headlong into them, mind going scrambled. 

"You got that?" Smith spat, and beneath everything else, Ross saw genuine panic in his eyes. "Do _not_ tell Trott about this. That's an _order_." 

But as much as Ross had longed for days for an order, it was probably his utter confusion along with the mind-boggling begins of the magic in those eyes that made him blurt out his foolish next words. "Is it a selkie skin?"

And Smith froze and Ross knew he was right. 

"Is it Trott's?" he continued, eyes wide and tense as a bowstring and near quivering under Smith's hold, cursing his own traitorous tongue. But this was  _important_. "Are you- Are you-" And then he spoke his most idiotic words yet, voice going high and shaky from panic. " _Are you keeping him with you against his will?_ " 

Because he _did_ know a thing or two about selkies. Never met one before, as far as he knew, but he knew something of the mythology. The rules, the habits... the danger. It fit in many ways. But it was't until he saw Smith's reaction that something clicked into place in his mind. 

"No!" Smith snapped, but Ross suddenly wasn't so sure he could trust what he said. " _Shit_ ," Smith swore under his breath, looking as though he was cursing his own existence. Ross didn't feel terribly inclined to pity him. "No, listen," Smith began again, eyes finding his and trying very hard to impress upon him the seriousness of his words. "You don't know  _anything_ about us. Ok? You know  _nothing_. You couldn't understand this. So do as I say - do NOT tell Trott." But he must have had an inkling at Ross's thoughts veering on the contrary, as he gave an aggravated sort of sigh and followed up with a different statement. "Trott  _wouldn't_ thank you for telling him."

Ross frowned.

Smith must have realised he had given him pause, as he continued, relaxing just slightly in relief.

"He doesn't...  _want_ to know." 

"What do you mean?" Ross asked slowly, startled. 

Apparently convinced he wasn't about to run off and find Trott right this second, Smith released his grip completely, and sighed. "It doesn't matter, ok? Just... You were never here, alright? You never saw," he glanced at the trunk, shaking his head. "...Anything." 

Ross wasn't about to just agree to that. But Smith obviously thought he'd planted enough of a doubt in his mind as he scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and gave a great sigh, turning away to amble back outside. He wore the air of a man who'd just had an entirely new and unwanted problem dumped on his shoulders. 

Ross glanced down at the locked trunk, innocent and unassuming as something ever could be. 

He hesitated, then moved away and followed Smith out, closing the door behind him. 

The next time he saw Trott, the man was in the kitchen with his head stuck in the freezer. 

Trott groaned exaggeratedly, and called out. "Smith?"

"Yeah?" Smith mumbled from nearby, tearing his eyes away from his book, sat at a counter covered in knickknacks and piles. 

"Where the hell is the milk?" Trott asked, tone scathing and put-out. 

"Oh." Smith sounded startled. Neither of them had seen Ross. "Uh. I can... get more?" 

" _Smith_ ," Trott whined, and shut the freezer door. "You should've gotten more when you used the last of it!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Smith grumbled, already bookmarking his page with a scrap bit of paper. "Do you really need it now? It's dark out."

" _Yes_ , I need it now," Trott moaned, glaring with no seriousness and plenty of teasing, implied by the playful turn-up at the edge of his lips. 

"Fine, _god_." And there was humour in Smith's voice too. Smith grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and turned, book abandoned, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Ross. 

A tense moment passed. Then he gave Ross a hard look - meaningful and edging on threatening - and brushed past him into the hall. Ross heard the front door slam and lock. 

He watched Trott - now grumbling aloud about annoying housemates and rooting through cupboards in search of an alternate snack. He spotted a biscuit tin on top he couldn't reach, so he clambered atop the counter on his knees and plucked it down. Successful, he pulled it open and slid to his feet, and munched one victoriously. He offered the tin to Ross, chattering in a drawl about the utter hassles of his life. 

Ross didn't know how selkie magic worked, but now he was looking for it he could see it, somehow, in Trott. The depth of his eyes, the sea sharpness and jagged rocks of his way. How long had it been, Ross wondered, since he wore the skin? Felt the ocean as he should? Did he have a family back home, far away, who missed him? He seemed happy here, happy with Smith, clearly, but that was what happened, wasn't it? Take a selkie's skin and they're bound to you in human form, a loving spouse, always beneath your control. 

But then, Smith hadn't seemed the type to do such a thing needlessly. Ross knew he wasn't the best judge of character, as a gargoyle. Too trusting, too willing to follow the commands of anyone who takes up the role of master. 

But even so, regardless of what others thought, he was his own person, too. He had to trust his own judgements, sometimes, even when conflicted as he was now. 

So he munched on a biscuit and mumbled in agreement to Trott's rant ("He doesn't even clean up after himself, that motherfucker!") and stayed silent. 


End file.
